Revelations
by danglingdingle
Summary: A sequel to my previous ficlet 'Substitute'. Sherlock takes the morning for a bit of a spin. John/Sherlock slash. Excessive fluff. Disclaimer:  'Sherlock' is not owned by me, and I make no profit from writing this.


Revelations

"_I know it's fine_," he'd said a time ago, as if he'd known it'd come to this; John holding Sherlock, still, after they were both awake, looking at each other without a sign of abashed veering of eyes, without a speck of discomfort. On the contrary - Sherlock's smile was more content than John had ever seen him, and he didn't seem to mind burrowing his face into John's arm, his tousled hair itching John's neck.

"Go back to sleep, John, it's too early to be thinking such profound thoughts."

For some reason, this assessment of John's predicament didn't surprise him one bit. It did make him smile though, the languid last tendrils of sleep entangling him, luring his mind into shifting aimlessly from one observation to another. The lilt in the pit of his stomach confirmed what his morning stiffness already suggested…the proximity of the younger man did nothing to assuage it.

The calmness and ease with which Sherlock seemed to have lulled himself back into the arms of Somnus only addled his brain further.

He shouldn't be so comfortable, shouldn't have the almost unbearable urge to throw his leg over Sherlock's hip to protect his sleep, and he most certainly shouldn't let his fingers move on their own accord, reaching to brush his fingertips along the dark curls flowing over Sherlock's temple.

"You do realise I can hear your heartbeat?" The mumbled question brought John to a halt, making his breath hitch as if he was caught stealing. He knew full well his heart was racing, racing together with his mind, trying to reach some goal that would make sense into the chaos even his years as a soldier hadn't taught him to solve.

John tried to focus on something. Something like Sarah. Something that wasn't listening to his heart trying to rip through its confines so eagerly when the deep voice ran, rattled through his spine;

"You love me."

The hazy picture of Sarah vanished in an almost audible pop, replaced by an image of a soporific Sherlock talking in his sleep. Maybe that was it… No. The bugger's eyes were wide open and shining with excitement

Yet the unpredictable statement made John tense and twitch like he was punched in the gut, panic building quickly in the back of his head, eyes searching for a way out. He wasn't ready for this, he was not ready for the incessant scrutiny of Sherlock Holmes who now laid his head on John's chest with a happy smile. "Don't be like that, the feeling is mutual. Has been from the start."

More facts, since that's what Sherlock was all about. Facts, data, observations, obvious. So obvious.

"But I'm not-"

"Gay, no, but it's not unheard of. The percentual majority of the population are bisexual under certain circumstances. I trust you're not unfamiliar with such encounters yourself."

"Sorry? You're suggesting that I'm bi?" John took Sherlock's head between his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye.

"I'm not suggesting anything," came the deadpan response with a long leg rubbing against John's thigh while Sherlock kept staring deep into John's eyes with a wicked curve of his mouth. "The hard evidence is indisputable. Problem?"

John let his head loll back with a long indecipherable sigh, yet not letting go of Sherlock, his eyes scrunched shut against the dizzying feel of disorientation, the madness of the situation throwing him into the sensation of disassociation followed by the sense of susceptibility John found himself falling into, piece by piece, his heart in the lead.

"Let's, for the sake of the moment, say you're right." John said quietly, huskily, unable to help himself. "What am I supposed to do about that?"

"I may not be very trained in the area, but the generally approved way of initiating a physical relationship seems to have something to do with locking lips…" Sherlock lifted his head gently from John's hands, shifting so that he half sprawled on the man, getting closer, closer…

There was the inevitable flavour of slumber, slow, encompassing sweetness on Sherlock's lips, and right before John lost himself into the spinning labyrinth of the kiss, he could swear he smelled, no, _tasted _black…_cherries._


End file.
